


Life Goes On

by blancafic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Hospital, Leo Fitz Lives, Post-Season/Series 05, post-s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 17:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancafic/pseuds/blancafic
Summary: After the events of Season 5, Fitz ends up in the hospital, but he's not the only one who needs some medical attention.





	Life Goes On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TashxTARDIS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashxTARDIS/gifts).



> Written for my FitzSimmons Secret Santa recipient @fitzsimmonsftw, based on the prompt: "Fitz gets injured in 5x22 but doesn't die (and the other Fitz in space isn't an issue)." You asked for a mix of fluff and angst, but this wound up a little more on the angsty side. There's fluff at the end, though! Hope you like it!
> 
> Many, many thanks, as always, to my brilliant beta @LibbyWeasley for her invaluable help with this, especially during the really busy holiday season.

Broken fragments are all he's left with after the accident. Broken memories and broken bones. And her. When he closes his eyes she's always there. She's young and old, happy and sad, right by his side and so distant he aches with longing for her. Often, he sees her in his mind's eye, rushing to his side as washed-out hospital corridors and bright lights pass by in a blur, and his heart remembers. His head is still catching up.

The world fades in and out as they work on him. They wrap him in bandages, set his bones, poke at his veins. The machines beep and whir around him, helping him breathe, keeping him alive. There is pain. And then there isn't. The doctors and nurses talk to each other in clipped jargon he can't make out. Even if he could, he probably wouldn't understand anyway. The woman in his dreams would understand. He doesn't know much, but he knows that.

He's not sure how long he's been out of it when the fog finally clears. Could have been hours, or days. The stark lines of the pale room come slowly into focus. A curtain. The end of the bed. Both of his legs in plaster casts, elevated by some contraption. There are tubes attached to his arms and one under his nose. He tries taking a breath. It hurts. Something pulls at the edges of his expanding consciousness, a memory of waking up in another room like this one, a long time ago. Or was it yesterday? Everything starts slotting into place, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Each one a specific impression of a person, place, or thing. Mack and May. Polly and Robin. An alien ship. An abandoned building. A pile of rubble and so much pain. And the woman. Jemma. Simmons. _Jemma_.

The picture finally comes together when he notices the battered, vinyl-covered guest chair in the corner of the room. More specifically, when he realizes who is sleeping in it. The one person in the world he most wants to see. The other half of his heart. She is curled up in a position that looks very uncomfortable, twisted knees and bent elbows, but she's sleeping soundly. She looks so serene, unburdened by the weight she’s used to carrying with her when she’s awake. He smiles, the one thing he can do that doesn't hurt.

He doesn't want to wake her, content to watch as she gets some much-needed rest. She is here and she is safe and that is enough for now. He is almost completely back to himself, mentally if not physically. They've both been running themselves ragged lately, chasing demons both literal and figurative. Even now he can see the dark circles under her eyes, in stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. She's earned this moment. They both have. But, as if his laser-like focus stirs her from her slumber as surely as a kiss, she shifts her position, opens her eyes, and stretches. Then, she turns her head in his direction, notices him watching her, and gasps.

"Fitz! You're—"

She leaps out of the chair, lunging toward the bed. But as soon as she stands fully upright, her eyes roll into the back of her head and she crumples to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs, like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

"Jemma?" His throat is sore, but a scream rips through him anyway. "Jemma!"

In a panic, he struggles against the tubes and wires connecting him to the machines. But his body is too broken to do anything but lay in bed and push the call button for the nurse.

"Help!" he screeches, not knowing if there's anyone around to hear. "Somebody help!"

Every cell in his body vibrates with the need to go to her, to make sure she is alright. But he is weak. He can't leave the bed. All he can do is wait for the assistance he desperately hopes is on the way. It's not the first time he's felt like a prisoner in his own body. This time, at least, his mind is clear. It only allows him worry more, though. And none of it makes any difference if he can't help her.

Soon there are footsteps outside the door and a woman in nurse's scrubs rushes in. "Mr. Fitz-Simmons? What is it? What's wrong?"

Their familiar portmanteau as a surname throws him off for a moment. He feels with his thumb for the metal band that was on his left ring finger, but it's gone. Still, the nurse did address him by his legal married name — a bonus wedding gift from Daisy when she made everything official — so he didn't dream it. And anyway, he doesn't need a ring to know what he and Jemma are to each other.

"It's not me, it's my wife. She . . . She's—"

He doesn't have the words to finish, but he doesn't need to. The nurse is already kneeling down next to Jemma, checking her vitals.

He holds his hand up in front of his face. It feels lighter. Too light. "And I seem to have lost my wedding ring."

"It was probably removed before the MRI," the nurse tells him distractedly as she continues working on Jemma. "I was afraid something like this would happen."

"What? Why?"

"She hasn't been taking care of herself. She's barely left that chair for two days."

"She's been through this before," he says softly, feeling a metaphorical pang of guilt in his gut. Somehow it hurts more than the actual pain in his flesh and bones.

"Your wife is a very determined woman."

He's afraid to laugh as much as he wants to. What comes out instead is a ragged exhale. "Tell me about it."

After a moment, Jemma opens her eyes. The nurse gently helps her sit up, blinking as she processes her surroundings. He's still worried but he can feel his pulse slowing down, confirmed by the display on the monitor next to the bed.

"Easy," the nurse soothes, rubbing Jemma's back and helping her return to the chair. "You fainted and collapsed. I'm going to check for a concussion, okay?"

Jemma nods and feels the back of her head. "I don't think I hit my head."

"You did," Fitz says and her head snaps to him, registering his conscious state. "Not hard, but still."

"Awake," she says on a sigh, as if finishing the end of the sentence she started before she passed out. She smiles at him weakly.

"I saw you fall, Jemma. Scared the hell out of me. Let her work."

She scoffs. "I scared you? Look who's talking. It's been 48 hours, Fitz."

"And have you eaten or slept in an actual bed at any point during that time?" the nurse asks her, shining a small flashlight into her eyes. By the challenging way she poses the question, Fitz can tell she already knows the answer. It isn't "yes."

"Have you been experiencing any shortness of breath? Dizziness? Disorientation? Heart palpitations?"

"I mean, it comes with the territory in our line of work," Jemma says dryly.

The nurse is not amused. "Long as you're here, let's get you downstairs to see a doctor. Just to be safe."

"I'm fine," she says, standing up gingerly and coming over to the side of the bed. She reaches out her hand and he takes it. "I'm better than fine. You're awake."

Ignoring Jemma's insistence to the contrary, the nurse takes out her phone and starts making the arrangements to have her admitted to the ER.

He squeezes her hand. "I'm more worried about you right now. Go on and see the doctor. I'll be here when you get back. Obviously."

He nods toward the end of the bed and his immobilized lower half.

"Alright," she says, resigned. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll do anything you want. I'm just glad you're okay." 

"Anything?" he says, raising his eyebrows.

"Within reason," she cautions, laughing. They both know he's in no position to be making passes right now, but he can't help flirting a little. And it puts a smile on her face, which was his real goal.

She leans down to kiss him. Her lips are sweet and provide more relief than any medication could.

It's not until they separate that he thinks to ask about what happened in the aftermath of the accident. "Did everyone else get out? What happened with Graviton? Is Daisy okay? Did we change the future? I mean, we’re not floating in space, so I assume it worked out.”

"We did change it. Or rather, Daisy did."

He sighs. "I've never been so happy to be wrong about anything."

"I suppose now isn't the time to say ‘I told you so.’"

"I don't mind. Long as you're okay."

"We'll be the judge of that," the nurse interrupts, pushing a wheelchair into the room. "Your ride's here, Jemma. We're just going to run a few tests to make sure it’s nothing serious."

"You're in luck then," he tells the nurse with a smirk. "She loves taking tests."

Jemma sticks her tongue out at him. "Not as much as I love you," she says.

"I love you too. Now get out of here." He makes a shooing motion with his hand and tilts his head toward the door.

She smiles back and takes a seat in the wheelchair, frowning adorably as the nurse wheels her out.

Once Jemma is gone he feels a bit at sea. Before his feelings have a chance to overwhelm him, though, the doctor comes in. She's older, with kind eyes that remind him, in a way, of his mother.

"Well, now that the excitement is over, let's have a look at you."

She fusses over him, taking his vitals and gently pressing on his body with her hands, which are even colder than Jemma's. He winces when she reaches a tender spot near his chest. She puts on her stethoscope and asks him to take in a deep breath. It hurts like hell. She asks him to do it again. And again.

"I'm told you go by Fitz, is that right?" she asks in between his breaths.

"Yes," he manages to grunt out.

"Nice to meet you, Fitz. I'm Dr. Harris. You’ve had a bit of an accident." Besides his mother's eyes, she also seems to share her gift for understatement. She stuffs her stethoscope in her pocket and fixes her eyes on his face. "How do you feel?"

"Like a building fell on me?"

"Least you still have your sense of humor. That's good. Assuming you had one before, that is."

He doesn't know the level of secrecy surrounding the mission that put him here. She may think he's joking about the building. He wishes he was.

"How bad is it?"

"I'm not going to sugar-coat it. You've got multiple fractures in both femurs, pelvic bone, and ribs. Your lung was punctured and you've suffered significant bruising to your internal organs. We managed to stop the internal bleeding, but we need to keep you here to monitor for complications. The good news is that you've improved significantly since we brought you in. Keep it up and you could make a full recovery."

He's been through recovery before. It's not the most thrilling thing he can imagine, but it could be worse. Much, much worse.

He thanks the doctor and she excuses herself to complete her rounds.

He doesn't remember drifting off again but — as if his consciousness is attuned to it — he wakes when he hears the doctor say the word "wife." Dr. Harris is outside in the hall, talking with the nurse from before. He closes his eyes and takes long, agonizingly slow breaths, pretending to be asleep and focusing on their words. He does work for a spy organization, after all. What kind of S.H.I.E.L.D. agent would he be if he didn't at least try to listen in?

"Is this his chart?" the doctor asks.

"No, hers. We just got the blood work back."

"Ah. Right. Anything I need to know?"

"One thing."

There's a pause, then the doctor speaks again. "Oh, I see." He hears a shuffling of papers. "Her hCG levels show she's not very far along. Does she know?"

"Not sure. We haven't shared the results with her yet."

His mind reels. It sounds as if . . .

Could it be?

No.

But it _could_.

"Continue with the IV drip and let her get some rest. I'll go down and see her when I'm done here."

"Yes, doctor."

When the doctor comes in he doesn't reveal that he knows anything. She doesn't say anything either. She checks his vitals, asks him a few questions, explains his treatment regimen, makes small talk about the weather, then leaves him to his spiraling thoughts.

Hours pass and there's no sign of Jemma. The doctor must have given permission for him to have visitors, though, because the rest of the team drops by in small groups. It’s good to see them, but he’s desperate to talk to his wife and gets more anxious the longer they’re apart.

The first to come in are Coulson and May (hand-in-hand, he can’t help but notice). They are both relieved to see that he’s conscious and making progress. They exchange a meaningful look and inform him that they're leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. and moving to Tahiti, of all places. He has to laugh at that, even though it feels like a thousand needles stabbing his chest. They don't bring up the reasons why or say whether either one of them is ever coming back. Coulson promises they'll wait to leave until Fitz is healthy enough to attend his retirement party. 

Mack and Elena are next to visit. Their relationship also seems to be be on solid ground now, having survived whatever disagreements they had leading up to the end of the world. Or the almost-end-of the-world. Elena tells him it was brave of him to save Polly and Robin the way he did, but also stupid, and he knows she means it in the most complimentary way possible. Mack calls him Turbo and tells him to hang in there. The air is thick with silent apologies, but it’s okay. They don't need to put their forgiveness into words. Mack has always been pretty good at figuring out what he wants to say, even when he can't bring himself to say it.

Not long after Mack and Elena leave there's a small knock and it’s still not Jemma. Much to his surprise, it’s Daisy. They make awkward small talk at first. She gives him a rundown of the final battle and how she beat Graviton. He tells her what his doctor said about his prognosis. She’s still distant, though, and he can't blame her for holding a grudge. But she's here, and that means something. Once he's recovered enough to leave this bloody hospital bed, they're going to have to sit down and have a long talk. Maybe they’ll never get back to the where they were, but they can work on it. If he's going to have a daughter someday he wouldn't mind her having Daisy to look up to.

Which brings him back to the world-changing revelation that's been burning him from the inside since he heard the doctor's words. He wonders if Jemma knows. Will he get to be the one to tell her? He can't wait.

Several hours later, Jemma finally returns. She's wearing a plastic hospital bracelet and her arm is wrapped where they drew blood, but other than that she looks like her normal self. Which is to say she looks like a dream come true to him.

She smiles when she sees him and pulls over a chair to join him by the side of the bed.

“The ER was busy so I snuck out,” she says conspiratorially. “I have to get back before they notice I’m gone, but I have something for you.” 

She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out his wedding ring. He holds out his hand so she can slip it on his finger, just as she did that day in the underground forest. It feels so satisfying to have it back where it belongs, like a missing part of his heart has returned to him. He may not need it, but he appreciates the symbolism of the unbroken circle, and the reminder of the promises they made to one another.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, cupping her cheek.

"Much better. The doctors did some tests. Apparently I've come down with the classic celebrity illness." She answers the question before he even asks. "Dehydration and exhaustion."

"Could be worse I s’pose." He hesitates before continuing, unsure of how to proceed without giving too much away. "Did . . . they tell you . . . anything else?"

Her brow wrinkles. She knows him well enough to know that there's something he's not saying. "Like what?"

"Just . . . You need to take better care of yourself, Jemma."

"I'm fine. You worry too much."

"It's not just you I'm worried about," he says cautiously.

"You’re right. You should be more careful too. I've had enough vigils by your hospital bed for one lifetime, thank you very much."

"No, no. Not me. There's something . . . someone . . . it's not about us anymore. Or it's not _only_ about us. There's . . ."

"Ugh, Fitz. What are you trying to say?"

He takes a breath. Here goes.

"I overheard the doctor talking earlier. And, well . . ." It's one word. He can say it. "Wow, this is harder than I thought. It seemed like she was saying you were . . . you are . . . pregnant."

"What?" She looks taken aback, then shakes her head. "No. I can't be."

"It sure sounded that way to me."

"Tell me what she said. _Exactly_.”

He tells her what he remembers of the conversation. Something about hCG levels and her not being very far along.

“And you’re sure she was talking about me?”

“Well, no. But that was the impression I got. And she said to to give this patient fluids and rest, which just so happens to be the treatment for dehydration and exhaustion. So.”

“I . . . suppose it's possible?" She bites her thumb, doing some biological calculations in her head. "I was so busy with Coulson and trying to stop the world from cracking apart, I guess I could’ve missed it."

He fixes his eyes on hers. “See, that’s what I’m saying. Regardless of whether you are or not, you have to take care of yourself, okay? For me? And anyone else who might come along.”

“I promise,” she says, planting a kiss on his lips as she stands. “Speaking of which, I’d better be getting back downstairs. Don't want to cause a panic.” 

He doesn’t want to let her go, but he can hardly argue with her now. So he watches her leave, taking the best parts of him with her.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to feel something pressing up against him. Some _one_. At some point she must have returned to his room and managed to climb into his bed, mindful of his injuries and all the tubes and wires. This is surely against hospital protocol, but he’s not going to complain. The room is dark, but her face is half-illuminated by the light coming from the monitors around them. 

She watches him come round with a dreamy expression on her face. “Sorry. Got a late discharge and didn’t want to wake you,” she whispers. “Hope this is alright.”

“Yeah," he says around a yawn. "I’m really glad you’re here.” He’s still a bit groggy, but he means every word.

“You were right, Fitz.” Her voice is so soft he almost doesn’t hear her.

“Course I was,” he responds automatically. “About what?”

She stares at him intently, waiting for the penny to drop.

“Oh,” he says with a sharp intake of breath. He desperately wants to roll over onto his side to face her, but his condition won’t allow it, so he makes due with a turn of his head. “So they told you officially then?”

She nods. “I think it had to have been—”

“Our wedding night,” he finishes for her, having already done the math.

Suddenly she leans back and smacks him on the shoulder, one of the few parts of him that isn’t injured.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“You're not supposed to know before me."

"Well, you got to be the one to propose, so—"

"I thought _you_ proposed when I couldn’t hear."

"So now you believe me?"

"Oh, who cares. We're going to be parents! Fitz, can you imagine?"

"I've done nothing but imagine it since I heard," he says, wonder expanding the resonance in his voice. "You're going to be an amazing mum, Jemma. I know you will."

She looks at him wistfully and he can see their future playing out behind her eyes. All he wants is to hold her and bask in the joy of this new life they’re bringing into the world. That will have to wait, though. For now, he’ll settle for her hand in his. He thinks about what it will feel like when he finally holds their baby in his arms. Of all the things they’ve created together over the course of their legendary partnership, this wee human being will be the most amazing yet. 

He's still broken for now, but he's healing. One day soon he'll be whole again, and they'll be a family, and his life will be more full than he ever imagined. He can already feel his heart expanding to make room.

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse all the liberties I've taken with the medical stuff here. Call it artistic license. I'm sure this is about as accurate as your average TV show, which is to say not that accurate.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @blancasplayground!


End file.
